


The Perfect Trousers...

by seamusdeanforever_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamusdeanforever_archivist/pseuds/seamusdeanforever_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Lix</p><p>Just a fluffy at- home with Seamus and Dean sometime in the future, I needed something to cheer myself up (and there's still not enough Seamus/ Dean on the net) PWP. Insane. Also, a rather half- hearted attempt to prove I can write something that's not got contents that make even my friends blush... (and my friends are more sex- obsessed than a cross- breed between Fawns and Veela who are both in heat</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Trousers...

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cora: this story was originally archived at [Seamus/Dean Forever](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Seamus/Dean_Forever), which I opened in 2002, and which was closed in 2005 when the server that hosted it was closed. To re-open the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2015. An announcement was posted to OTW media channels, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Seamus/Dean Forever archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/seamusdeanforever/profile).
> 
> ***
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
> They're mine, I admit it. I wrote all four books, I'm working on the fifth even as we speak, the reason it hasn't been published yet (even though last I heard it was supposed to be out at beginning of March ) is cos I'm too busy writing slash smut to post on ff.net... and did I mention that I keep unicorns in my garage (because they eat the brussels sprouts my mum gives me for Sunday dinner. I don't like brussels sprouts.) and there's a runway from which the flying pigs that live in my part of the UK take off situated just behind my house.
> 
> Author's Note: Slash (I can't write Het anymore if it were to save my life... is that a bad thing?)

Seamus burst into consciousness with the abruptness of a lightning strike and almost instantly was as high as a five year old who'd just been trick or treating and had eaten all his sweets in two minutes. At his age you'd have thought he'd have calmed down and behave slightly less like a toddler, but not our Seamus. He jumped out of bed as if he were bouncing on a trampoline and then paused to look back at the beautiful body that had been curled round him. Dean was still quite blissfully fast asleep, dreaming with a smile on his face. Someone *had* to put a stop to it. Seamus took a running leap for his lover and landed with an almost painful thump slightly on top of him. Dean attained consciousness even more quickly than Seamus had done, but with none of the gleeful smiles and overwhelming joy.

"You little animal, I was asleep!" he wailed, attacking Seamus with lighthearted punches and rolling the other boy under him, pinning him with ease, then tickling him until Seamus was breathless with laughter.

"I... surrender." he gasped. Dean stopped, looking at him thoughtfully, as if questioning the honesty of this capitulation, which was probably a wise decision. Seamus fluttered his eyelashes and made the most of his position beneath Dean to start rolling his hips suggestively. Dean sat up, pulling away slightly, which made Seamus start to pout. "No you don't, you're in the doghouse." Dean told him sternly. Seamus pouted more.

"But... but Dean..." his eyes opened unnaturally wide, his expression that of absolute despair.

"You look like a goldfish when you do that thing with your eyes, y'know." Dean simply told him smugly. Seamus scowled in disgust.

"I do NOT look like a goldfish! I know full well what I look like, or rather who I look like. I look like Ewan M- whatsi, the Muggle actor, everyone says so. Even you've admitted it, that time you told me why you had to take a cold shower every time we watched that weird film with all the accents."

"Ewan McGregor." Dean sighed, not even bothering to try and explain to Seamus the title or plot of "that weird film with all the accents". When it came to films, Seamus had the attention- span of a three- year old. If it didn't have exploding cars or cartoon characters or talking animals, Seamus had a very hard time focusing long enough to work out who the lead character was. It was odd, because some things he could focus on very well, like the Quidditch results; he'd even learnt to memorise and understand the football league tables. Hell, he'd managed to concentrate long enough to understand the offside rule. But films were not his strong point.

"Whoever," Seamus said, pouting again. "The thing is, I don't look like a goldfish, and it was cruel of you to attempt to destroy my self- confidence when all it would take to make me feel completely worthless..."

"Seamus, I'm sorry, you don't look like a goldfish, even when you make your eyes go all huge and starring, I love you, can we go have breakfast now?" Dean interrupted, knowing that Seamus had no problems with his self- confidence, and that simply the word 'breakfast' would be enough to make him forget every single problem he'd ever experienced. One of the things Dean loved most about his partner was Seamus' apparent inability to even comprehend that bad things could happen, even to him. He just focused so much on being happy and smiling that bad things just seemed to get bored and leave him alone, those that did try and get him left no impact at all, because Seamus disregarded them the moment he was happy. And it didn't take much to make him happy, unlike some people.

Seamus beamed, "Oh! Will you make me pancakes? with syrup? And chocolate? And ice cream? and cherries on it? and whipped cream? Oh, whipped cream, we could do other stuff with that afterwards..."

Dean had to laugh, getting up and pulling his lover up after him. "I'll make you pancakes, but honestly, Sea, don't you think you've got enough sugar in your bloodstream as it is?"

"Nope!" Seamus yelled, skipping out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. Dean was happy to go to the kitchen and start making some pancakes, listening to Seamus take a shower singing blissfully. By the time Seamus was done, Dean was finished cooking. Seamus padded in wearing just a towel round his waist, and leant up to kiss Dean smirking, "Thought I'd give you a thrill as a thank you for making breakfast."

Dean ran his eyes over the his shorter friends' body, very appreciative of Seamus' actions. Really, the vision of those broad shoulders and perfect abs were enough to make up for playing housewife for a *week* at least... Seamus laughed, "Maybe we will end up making proper use of the whipped cream after all."

Dean frowned unhappily. "No, this is a PG-13 story, all we get to do is sit round the table eating the whipped cream on the pancakes."

Seamus sighed and went to sit at the table, but his depression was not unsurprisingly forgotten almost immediately in the face of his favourite breakfast food and his favourite ice cream flavour brought together in perfect unity... He gave a sigh of blissful, orgasmic pleasure as he swallowed the first mouthful. Nevermind, the pancakes and ice cream were almost enough on their own to make up for the lack of carnal pleasures, and maybe if he put the whipped cream on the pancake as well, it would get rid of any thoughts about the whipped cream on Dean's... yeah, and that word would raise the rating of the fic.

Dean sighed as Seamus seemed to completely forget him, concentrating entirely on the bliss that is pancakes and ice cream. He pulled at his dreads with slight irritation, but went to take a shower rather than jumping Seamus, who was now making the kind of noises you'd expect in a porn film.

When Seamus was done making weird noises (and had eaten the pancakes) and Dean was dressed (Oh yeah, and Seamus got dressed too, he wasn't still wandering round in his towel) they decided to go shopping. After all, it was a Saturday, and most people are so bored on Saturdays that they end up trailing for hours round stores buying things they don't want. The part that excited Seamus was that it was Muggle Shopping. Despite being half- Muggle, the Irish boy had grown up in an intensely Magical part of Ireland, where very few Muggles went, and during his time at Hogwarts usually had only been to Hogsmeade, so he still found shopping for Muggle things an exciting adventure. Of course, a Seamus who thinks he's going on an exciting adventure is not something many people want to put up with. If he acted like a five year old on a sugar high just because he'd woken up the morning, then when he thought he was on an adventure he was worse than the twins after they'd found they'd not only managed to achieve their life ambition of stealing the toilet seat from the Staff Bathrooms but to dye Snape's hair pink and charm McGonaggal into singing of her deep passion for Professor Trelawney and divinations in front of the whole school at the same time... simply put, a nightmare.

Somehow, Seamus had persuaded Dean that it was vital for them to search the whole of London for the *perfect* pair of leather trousers. No ordinary leather for Seamus. One, they had to actually be fake, as he was going through an animal rights phase and didn't want to wear a dead cow. Yet they had to still look real and let his skin 'breathe'. A challenge, but not impossible. Next, they had to be a certain shade of black, blue- black which Seamus said brought out his eyes, as opposed to green- black, purple- black or any other number of blacks Dean hadn't even known were any different from 'black'. Then, they had to have the back pockets tilted inwards, to flatter his behind. They also had to have front pockets that were small enough to not be obvious, but big enough to carry his keys and wallet. And finally, they had to be easy to unbutton one- handed, because Seamus had decided it was vitally important that it was as easy as possible for he and Dean to do things in club bathrooms and back alleys that really should be kept to the bedroom.

The search was on for the perfect trousers...

Three hours later, Dean felt like a ghost. Seamus was still bouncing happily along, now singing the theme tune to Blue Peter (a children's TV show). Previously, he had gone through the theme tune for the Simpsons, the James Bond theme, almost every single James Bond song (View to a Kill twice, Seamus thought the song was incredibly sexy despite it's 80s feel.), the theme tune for Quincy, several songs from the Muppet Show (*where* had he seen that? Hadn't it ended years ago?) and the intro to Eastenders, that awful soap opera. Dean would have sold his mother if it meant he could go back in time and prevent himself showing Seamus how to work the television.

He managed to get a timeout long enough to have lunch, getting himself a double espresso to try and get the energy to keep up with Seamus. "You know, Dean." Seamus said, as he ate his chips with disgusting amounts of tartare sauce, "those trousers are hiding from me on purpose. I'm going to have to hang them up and beat them when I find them."

"You shouldn't talk about that kind of thing, Seamus, it might change the rating of the story."

"Why? What's hanging things up and beating them with canes... or maybe with wands, I suppose... got to do with the rating of the story?"

"Because you might not be talking about trousers, you might... oh no you don't! I'm not going to say it! I'm not getting the blame for saying stuff like that and turning this into an NC- 17..."

"Why not..." whined Seamus. "If you did, we might suddenly find ourselves back in bed where we're supposed to be."

"Shut up, Seamus," Dean snapped and ordered another espresso.

Once more, on our heroes went, searching for a pair of trousers that even Seamus could believe flattered his figure and didn't make his bum look big. And because our author is getting lost and confused (blame Seamus, his fucked up way of thinking is contagious. Though I still love him), they found them after another two hours and went home.

"Thank god!" Dean cried in relief. Seamus came in wearing nothing but the trousers and a wide grin.

"What do you think?"

Dean checked him out. It turned out Seamus was also carrying a long whip. Dean replied, "I think the author will have to end now, or her battle to write a fic that's actually PG- 13 and low in smut content will be doomed."

The author agreed and left them to get on with whatever they were doing.

**Author's Note:**

> \--- Yes, I know it ended abruptly, but it's so hard to not write R stuff! Honestly, how people do it, I don't know...


End file.
